


Cee and Fey's MCU Year of Whump

by ceealaina, feyrelay



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Counted Word Fic, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Moodboards, Multi, Prompt Fic, Tony Stark-centric, Whump, Whumptober
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2020-11-10 16:42:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 16,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20854982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceealaina/pseuds/ceealaina, https://archiveofourown.org/users/feyrelay/pseuds/feyrelay
Summary: Whumptober-themed fics by ceealaina and moodboards by feyrelay unless otherwise indicated. Multiple pairings, different per chapter, some are gen or platonic pairings.CNTW = different chapters may contain different themes





	1. Shaky Hands - Tony & Rhodey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 500 words by ceealaina.

Tony drew in a long breath and poured another drink, cursing when his hand shook, splattering amber liquid over the counter. Closing his eyes, he knocked the glass back in one thick swallow, letting the burn of the scotch settle into his stomach. He was half-dressed in the recently restored Stark -- _ Avengers _ \-- Tower penthouse, wearing dress pants and an open shirt. He still had buttons and cufflinks and a bow tie to wrangle, and he was just so very tired. 

“Sir?” 

Jarvis’s voice was soft and lacking the usual edge of sarcasm. “Another message from Captain Rogers. He reminds you that this is a huge honour and requests again that you please not be late.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Tony leaned against the counter, glad that he’d forgone the ice in his glass so he wouldn’t have to hear it rattling in his shaking hand. “Tell him, uh… Tell him not to get his incontinence panties in a twist. Or whatever. Something I’d say.” 

He poured himself another drink, managing to get most of it in the glass this time, and drew in another deep breath. The city was hosting some kind of Avengers Thank You Gala, now that the worst of the Battle of New York clean up was done. Tony hadn’t thought too much about it, not until Steve had shown him an invitation and there in stark black and white was the date: December 16, 2012. 

He’d nearly thrown up on the spot, had zoned out of the ensuing conversation entirely until he could go somewhere private to have a little meltdown. He’d tried everything he could to get out of it, had claimed stockholders meetings and corporate espionage and, as the time had drawn nearer, tried to feign illness or a family emergency. But his newfound team was having none of it, not even Natasha who had to have known what this day was. And when Steve had finally sat him down and told him that unless Tony had an actual legitimate reason for not attending, he was pulling rank and insisting, Tony had given in. It wasn’t like he was going to tell any of them what today was, tell them about the panic attacks and tears and drinking himself into oblivion. 

“Sir?” Jarvis sounded frustrated now, though not at Tony. “Captain Rogers would like to remind you that the Gala officially begins in half an hour, and the rest of the team is already there.” 

Tony inhaled sharply. “Yep. On my way.” 

Opening his eyes, he pulled out his phone and scrolled until he found the picture of Rhodey’s face photoshopped onto the picture of Winnie the Pooh holding a jar of honey. As painstaking as it was to try and text with his hands shaking the way they were, he couldn’t quite bring himself to say it out loud.

**‘Can you drive?’**

**‘My hands again.’**

**‘Fucking December.’**

He’d just managed the first button on his shirt when Rhodey’s reply came.

**'I’m downstairs whenever you’re ready.'**


	2. Explosion - Tony/Rhodey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 750 words, co-written.

For the briefest of moments, Tony almost didn’t realize what was happening when the first explosion rocked the humvee. Somehow, with all the demonstrations and numbers and selling, he’d lost track of the fact that they were in an active war zone. Having access to a bar that fogged dry ice at your feet, Afghani heat be damned, could do that to a guy. 

And then the truck in front of them had exploded, and the people he’d been joking with seconds before were all dead between one heartbeat and the next. He wondered who else from their little caravan—from Rhodey’s group—was dead but that thought didn’t bear pondering as it was clearly, patently _ not a thing _ that was happening.

And now he cowered behind a rock, explosions and gunfire rocking the ground around him and shifting the dust in little tan puffs of sand so fine it looked like smoke, and all he could think was that he should have gone in the ‘humdrumvee’ after all. Tony nearly burst into a hysterical round of laughter at that, and he shook his head trying to refocus. He was Tony Stark, he’d survived a lot worse than this. Maybe no specific examples came to mind, just now, but he _ could _ get through this. Could. Would. Had to.

Backup. He needed to find backup and a gun, in that order. Also, maybe medical attention would be good, in case adrenaline was eating his pain. He scrabbled for his phone, nearly dropping it three times in the process, trying to calm his frantic mind and pick one of the twenty thousand thoughts racing through his brain and _ focus_. Backup. He needed backup, he needed—

Rhodey. 

He dialed the number frantically, hoping that he’d pick up because he may have been Tony Stark, and he may have been able to handle this himself, but right now all he wanted was the face of his best friend, and to see that familiar unimpressed look while Rhodey gave him shit for not being able to leave Tony alone for ten minutes. He’d been so stupid, earlier, refusing to ride in the same car because what? He was cranky over getting a lecture? Because Rhodey had refused to get up and pole dance with him? He had been stupid and petty and desperately in need of increased proximity to Rhodey in the interior of the plane, of his approval and his camaraderie and some goddamned levity (not to mention maybe a touch, if he was lucky)... not that that excused any of his tantrum. He was always being such a needy dick to Rhodey, and the man forgave him every time. 

Okay, so. Tony was going to call him for backup, and find a gun, and then he was going to get the fuck out of here, and be better and do better and _ be _ better, oh wait he already said that. 

Which was when the missile landed right beside him. Tony recognized it immediately, wondered why the fuck the bad guys were using Stark Industries weaponry before he realized that he had more immediate, pressing concerns, like getting the fuck away from it. He only managed a couple of steps before the explosion. 

Tony was on the ground before he could think and for a too-long moment he thought that he’d somehow returned to being the luckiest bastard on the planet, that it hadn’t touched him, that he’d be okay. 

And then the pain hit.

It hurt so badly he couldn’t breathe, blood spreading across his $500 shirt and shrapnel shredding his $800 kevlar vest (... like it mattered? like it helped? And why was he thinking about the cost of his fucking clothes anyway?). Pain and terror and regret coursed through him. Distantly he was aware of his phone, still intact, beeping a warning that indicated a complete failure to connect. 

_ That is probably, _ Tony thought hazily before passing out, _ what they call ‘poetic justice’ _. (Or karma.)

It hadn't been until later that he’d had the brainwave that maybe his personal karma had nothing to do with it, that he was not the center of the universe, and that if karma was present that day then it only could have saved his life because maybe he should have died, sure.

But no.

Because Rhodey deserved for Tony to live, to stick around, and that man had enough good karma for them both. (So he lived.)

Because if he hadn’t, Rhodey would have killed him.


	3. Delirium - Tony & Happy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 750 words by ceealaina.

“Boss?” Happy called, wincing as he moved through the wreckage of Tony’s apartment, stepping around empty booze bottles, and brightly-colored bras and what looked like the innards of the toaster _ and _ the television. Feeling a headache coming on, he moved toward the kitchen. “Tony? You in here?” 

It was just luck that he caught sight of Tony’s reflection in the shine of the refrigerator and had time to whirl and catch him by the wrist before the young heir-become-addict could bash him in the back of the head with a frying pan. 

“Whoa, hey, easy, easy… It’s me, it’s Happy.” 

Tony stared at him blankly for a long second before frowning. He dropped the pan with a clatter and rubbed at his running nose with the back of his free arm, which jittered. “Happy?” 

Happy dropped the other man’s wrist, hating how bony it felt in his grip. Tony somehow looked even skinnier than he had before Happy had taken the weekend off, and he sighed heavily. “Yeah, it’s me. You doing okay, Tony?”

Tony’s eyes went wide then—presumably with delayed recognition—and he grabbed at Happy’s arm. _ “Happy, _ thank god you’re here.” He leaned in close, his breath hot on Happy’s cheek and sour where it curled into the bodyguard’s senses. “They’re trying to kill me.” 

“Who is?” Happy felt a pang in his chest as he asked the question; he cared for this man like his own family, and he hated seeing what he was doing to himself. 

“They are!” Tony insisted, looking around wildly. “They’ve been sending people… All weekend, there’ve been… People. Watching me, following me, waiting for the moment.” Tony clapped his hands together, too hard, in front of Happy’s face, emphatic. “Assassins, spies, and, uh, headhunters,” he explained, tapping at his own temple in illustration. “We’ve gotta get out of here, get somewhere safe. Somewhere underground, maybe.” 

Tony was eyeing the window like it was a valid means of escape, even though it was the _ fifty-seventh _ floor. Happy turned him toward the kitchen, hoping that the drugs would distract him enough that Tony’d go with it. 

“Have you eaten?” Happy asked, eyes catching on the discarded frying pan that had been brandished as a weapon. 

Tony shook his head wildly. Morning sunlight was pouring in through the huge, picture window, but despite that his eyes were so dilated that it would be difficult to say what colour they actually were. “Can’t,” he insisted, scrubbing a hand through his waves and making his hair stand on end. He sniffled, nose running again. “They’re trying to kill me. It could be poisoned. I haven’t touched it, just in case.” 

Happy had no idea when this particular bout of delirium had started, so he didn’t know if that meant Tony hadn’t eaten in hours, or for the entire weekend. But as far as he was concerned, the man was too damn skinny, and a meal wouldn’t hurt. And helping to prepare something simple just might keep him distracted enough to be safe until the high started to wear off. 

“Can’t be poisoned if I help you help me make it from scratch, right?” he pointed out. Tony frowned, squinting a little, but didn’t argue the somewhat faulty logic in that statement. Taking it as a win, Happy steered him over to the open kitchen, edging him past a broken bottle of Jack so he wouldn’t cut his bare feet on the sharp shards. “You know how to make an omelette, right? Let’s do that. Something simple, easy… Hard to poison.” 

Tony gave him a look of such absolute disdain that Happy found himself snorting back laughter despite the absolute trainwreck of a situation. 

“I don’t cook,” Tony informed him. (Perish the thought.)

“Uh huh. Well, my friend, you are about to learn how to cook an omelette. Everyone should know how to cook an omelette, even if they don’t cook. They’re fast, easy, and delicious… if it’s the morning after, they’ll wow the pants off whoever you’re tryin’ to impress.”

He was rambling, mostly, trying to keep Tony’s attention, but the man was staring at him like he was saying something life-altering, so Happy just kept talking. 

“They’re great for an apology, too. Can’t ever go wrong with an omelette, Tony. Seriously. You ever need to give someone some bad news? Soften it up with an omelette first.”

“I’ll remember that,” Tony promised solemnly, calming, though his eyes remained less than clear.

“I doubt it, boss.”


	4. Human Shield - Tony & Peter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1400 words by feyrelay.

It’s no secret that Peter Parker has a thing about guns. Well, it’s no secret to Tony, anyway, but he’s not sure that counts because very few things about his protégé are secret from him. It comes with the territory. Friday is both a notorious gossip—a trait she passed on to her little sister, Karen—and an oversharer, and he’s the one who listens to her, it’s not his fault, _ whatever you say, Rhodey. _

Anyway, the point is, it’s not his fault the kid freezes up in a fight whenever there are handguns involved, despite the fact that neither dynamite, nor repulsors, nor RPGs, nor shock-lashes or suction cups or tentacles or whatever the fuck the crazies are sporting these days, none of it ever seems to phase him. 

He’s a tough kid, and he can disarm a man from across the room with those webs, but once Peter actually clocks the revolver or automatic or what have you, once it’s out of play and time to move on and finish the fight, he just. Can’t. Tony’s developed a tendency to dart in front of him and snag the offending Glock or S&W, whatever the case may be, quipping, “Age before beauty,” as he cuts Peter’s panic short. It’s kind of their thing, now, but maybe it can’t be that way forever. He won’t always be there. (Maybe it’s not his place to soothe the wounds left by Ben Parker’s passing, more to the point.)

That’s a problem for Peter, Tony thinks. And as his mentor, Peter’s problems are Tony’s problems, no matter their source. (Isn’t that how it’s supposed to go?)

He’s trying real hard to make sure that, by the commutative property, the opposite is never true, that Tony’s problems don’t spill over into Parker’s life, which has been dip-dyed in too much red already. It’s a near thing. (Sins of the father.)

So he’s gonna teach Peter about guns, a hundred miles from any convenience store or anything to remind the kid of what he’s lost, and hopefully take the fear out of it for him. Knowledge is power. (Visited upon the son.)

Tony shakes those early morning thoughts away, finding them too dire for a brain cobbed and hobbled with lack of caffeine, and waits for Peter outside his building. They’re driving up to Clint’s today, for shooting practice. It’s rather an honor, to be invited into the idyllic emptiness of the piece of land that sits in a perfect little blind spot, hidden from cell reception and satellites, including Edith. Plus, maybe if Peter still has anxiety, they can start out with bows and arrows or something, preferably while Tony has some fucking coffee.

As far as the Bartons’ security and lack of communications tech, Tony would be impressed if he didn’t know exactly who Natasha had to screw—figuratively speaking, _ Jesus_—to make that happen. (It was Maria Hill and it wasn’t as figurative as you might think, his traitorous brain reminds him intrusively.)

Peter greets Tony sleepily—in a T-shirt and casual bottoms and _ those glasses, Lordy_—and curls into the seat after clicking his belt into place. Tony greets him back, but he’s a million miles away in his mind, even as he starts the long drive out to Clint’s. He feels naked without his suit stowed away somewhere on his person, but there’s no point. Without even a satellite connection, there’ll be no Fri or Karen for them, so they’re going sans superhero accoutrements.

It takes hours to get out of the city, even this early, with the morning rush. It’s enough time for Tony to ponder his mistakes. (There’s never enough time.)

He’d fought with the other man, about the cell reception. Tony’d been of a mind that Accords-related disputes or no, Hawkeye could at the very least trust the Stark LTE towers to carry calls and such and Tony had even used his considerable resources to scope out a piece of hidden-away real estate with plenty of room for archery, where the Bartons could hunker down and still let their kids play Candy Crush. But no, something had spooked him and Clint had insisted that he take his ties to the grid and bury them in an unmarked grave.

He’d said, “What if someone wanted backdoor access to my location through your network?” and Tony had opened his mouth before the other man had added, “If they had Pepper? If they had Peter?” and Tony had shut the hell up, beaten.

So, he says all that to say that it’s not his fault that they’re in the middle of no fucking where when it happens.

He says all that to say that it’s not his fault he’d gotten short when Peter said he had a funny feeling. When the kid had clammed up and started making noises about maybe not being ready to go up to the farm and face his fear today, that it felt like the wrong day for it, Tony’d dismissed it for the general anxiety it might have been. He’d given Peter a minute as they’d sipped coffee, and he’d taught Peter how to take the gun apart, and what to be afraid of and what not to be, Howard’s voice echoing metallic in his ear. The kid seemed shaken so Tony reined it in and they did archery until the sun started to edge towards setting. They'd stayed too long.

He remembers the static in his brain that had followed that first shot, the way he’d thought it was a dark red _ bug _ at first, plucking at Peter’s cotton-covered shoulder—a weird beetle or something, maybe—until the color started spreading and then he _ heard. _ The sound reached them after the round did, which meant it was no standard rifle.

That was something Hawkeye said in the debrief, and Tony just repeats, because that’s not what he remembers about the day.

He remembers, mostly, not being able to _ do _ jack shit, and that parents were supposed to die first, before their children. (If there was any justice in the world, at least, though of course there wasn't.) He’d internalized that one rather hard, you see—and with much chemical assistance—sometime in the 90s.

So, no, it’s not Tony’s fault (never his fault) (_always _ his fault) that they’d been followed and the low, bleeding sun suddenly had company as the bad guy strike team from hell had made the picaresque landscape turned stained and there was a bullethole putting a ring around the rosie all over Peter’s shirt because they _ didn’t fucking have their suits_— 

The next one goes through (through!) Peter’s cheek and comes _ out of his mouth _, taking part of his lip with it and Tony hears someone shouting (it’s him isn’t it?) and the parts of his body that aren’t covered by Peter’s body are covered in Peter’s blood instead— 

He’s grateful it’s not brains and he thinks of his mother and her friendship with Jackie Onassis— 

Somehow spurred into action by that, Tony pleads, “Peter, talk to me.” He brings up his hands to hold the kid’s face together, as Peter moans but holds steady as a shield. Tony ends up dragging them both behind a tree, that—funny in a way—has one of Lila’s targets bolted to it.

And, sure, Clint hears the shots and arrows come twanging through the air in short order but that’s not what Tony’s stuck on.

Tony doesn’t know how to say, ‘If you die, I die with you,’ but Peter had seemed to know. (He supposes he could say it just like that but then again, no, he couldn’t.) Regardless, it had shone in his eyes as they sat there and looked at each other and saw the same thing, said the same thing back to each other.

(Not you, too. Not again. Breaking the fucking cycle.)

“It's supposed to be me before you, kid,” he says to no one; Peter’s now resting and healing a borough away, likely clutched—precious as pearls—to May’s chest. The sun has long since set, and the moon will head that way soon, too, to make way for morning. But. His scotch hasn’t run out yet. "That, I'll drink to."

(You’re my last chance, don’t you know that, kid?)

“It was supposed to be me _ instead _ of you,” Tony amends.

(Age before beauty.)


	5. Gunpoint - Tony & Peter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1300 words, co-written.

When Quill had shown up on earth and gone on his Magical Mystery Press Tour, Tony had rolled his eyes. But missing-child-turned-space-hero made quite a story, so he couldn’t really be surprised that Quill was cycling through the late-night circuit. He’d winced, sure, when Quill had told the story about meeting Peter and Tony and Strange, the ‘you shoot my guy, I’ll shoot yours’ not painting Tony in the best light but that was nothing new.

In retrospect, it wouldn’t have mattered. By the time Tony saw the broadcasts it was already out there, streamed and shared and retweeted to hundreds of thousands of people. But god, Tony wished he’d done something then.

For all his futurism, Tony never saw this coming. It was just a normal day; they weren’t even training. Tony had had a conference at MIT, something that he thought Peter might be interested in, and so he’d invited him along. Tony not-so-secretly loved his nerd conferences (Pepper liked to joke that it was a wild Tony Stark in his natural environment), and getting to see Peter enjoy that sense of camaraderie was more than worthwhile. They’d had a fantastic morning at the conference, and when Peter—who’d been across Europe, to Wakanda, and visited other planets, but had barely been to an American city outside of Queens—started asking Tony about his time in Cambridge, he was only too happy to show him around (and maybe show off a little, so what?), which, of course, was when everything went to hell. 

There was no warning, no chance to suit up and prepare. One minute they were walking around, eating hot dogs while Tony told him about the time he and Rhodey had broken into the New England Aquarium (for _ science_, Peter!), and then Peter had dropped his hot dog, grabbing at Tony’s forearm and staring at him with wide eyes. 

“Mr. Stark,” he started, all breath. 

It was all he had time for. 

Tony had the nanotech, he’d suited up right away, but even that short amount of time was enough that Peter was being held with an arm around his neck and a gun pressed against his temple. And he wasn’t helpless without his spideysuit, far from it, he could have easily broken the guy’s arm and wrestled the gun free without even trying, but he wasn’t fighting at all and Tony _ didn’t know what to do_. The guy with the gun said the clichéd line, “Freeze!” but Tony was already frozen, as always, ahead of his time.

(_But what if he shoots him? _ Tony’s traitorous mind, the part that never shut up and never stopped calculating futures and possibilities, had posited. _ What if you end up wearing the kid’s brains back to your bed-and-breakfast? _)

“Mr. Stark.” Peter’s eyes were wide and wild and Tony couldn’t breathe. 

“Come on, pal,” he tried, hating the crack in his voice. “What’s your goal here?” 

“Shut up!” the man yelled, twisting Peter’s arm back and making him wince. “Just… Just shut up!” 

Tony drew in a slow, deep breath, trying to put aside that this was Peter and think how Iron Man would react if this were any other hostage. 

(Trying to forget the image of Peter turning to dust in his arms, of Peter bleeding in his arms.)

“Let him go, now.” His voice was stronger now, cool, distant, pushing down his own terror, his need to keep Peter safe. 

The gunman only tightened his hold, pressing the muzzle right into Peter’s skin, and Tony reacted before he had time to think, repulsors whining as he pointed them. He couldn’t get a clean shot, not yet, but the gunman might not know that, might move, or shift, or (please, just… _ please _) let Peter go. 

“I’m not going to ask again,” Tony told him, steel in his voice now. 

“Mr. Stark, wait—,” Peter started before he was cut off as the man yanked him hard. 

“Do it!” he screamed, voice raw and ragged, and Tony could see the cracks now, the wild look in his eyes, the way they were darting around the area, the awkward tenseness of his body. “Do it!! What are you waiting for? I shoot your guy, you shoot mine, right?” 

Jesus _ fucking _ Christ. 

“Look, I know what you’re trying to do,” Tony started, but he didn’t, not at all. To be honest, right now he didn’t care if this man lived or died, as long as he got Peter out of there. He was not equipped to deal with this, but there was no one else to do it. “But you need to let the kid go. He’s got nothing to do with this. Just let him go and we can figure this out.” 

It was the wrong thing to say. 

“Shut up!” the man screamed again, jerking Peter around wildly. Tony’s breath caught; he was as likely to shoot Peter accidentally moving around like this. “Shut the fuck up! I’m done with figuring shit out! Do it, come on! Do it, or I swear to god, I will shoot him right here!” 

“Oh god,” Peter choked out. “Mr. Stark, please just wait. Don’t shoot him, please wait.” His voice was high pitched and frantic, and Tony wavered slightly. “It’s fine, it’s fine, nobody has to get hurt, nobody has to die, _ please _ don’t shoot him. He’s not a criminal, he’s just mentally ill. He needs _ help, _ Mr. Stark, please.” 

And of course Peter _ would. _ He would make this harder than it had to be, and for what? Peter and the last vestiges of his hero worship for Tony could read whatever they wanted into it, into this hesitation between Tony and the gunman, but there was no way Tony was choosing this guy’s life over Peter’s. Tony just needed to wait for the opportune moment. 

Then the guy released the minuscule thumb safety, and _ fuck, _ how had he missed that it had been _ on _ in the first place, those first few precious seconds? (Goddamned anxiety.)

Tony was done fucking around. There was no repulsor blast (like Tony was going to fire a repulsor when this fucker had Peter blocking 90% of his body). Instead it was the drone that neither of them had even realized he’d activated, shattering D-bag’s wrist. Tony took the briefest of moments to make sure that the man was down, to snatch up the dropped gun, and then all his attention was on Peter. Peter, who had flinched when the gun went off, was now staring at Tony with wide, terrified eyes, utterly frozen. 

“Pete?” 

Peter jerked, like he had only just realized he _ could _ move, and his hand shot up to brush at the blood splattered across his cheek. His face was dangerously pale, and Tony lunged forward, catching him just before his knees gave out. 

“Oh my god, oh my god,” Peter was mumbling, seemingly unaware of the tears spilling over his cheeks. “I thought it was _ me_, I thought…” He looked up at the drone, still hovering overhead. “I didn’t even hear it, how…?” 

Tony didn’t answer, just let him cling tight while he stared over at the man, writhing on the ground as he clutched at his arm in agony. 

“Look,” Tony said, and he could tell by the way the man’s eyes snapped to his that he was listening. “I don’t care whether you live or die. But _ he _ does, so. The paramedics are on the way. But if you come within a city block of him again, if you sell this story to the press, I won’t kill you, you won’t get what you want, but I _ will _ erase you from existence, you understand me?” 

He didn’t wait for a response, helping Peter to his feet. 

“Come on, kid. Let’s go home.” 


	6. Dragged Away - Tony & Nat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1500 words, co-written.

It was luck really—if you could call it that—that Tony had been looking at Nebula when she’d told them where the soul stone could be found. He’d been worrying about Thor, about Morgan and Pepper, about whether this whole plan could even work, and his memories of their time in space were a bit fuzzy, what with the starvation and oxygen deprivation and general near-deathiness of the entire situation. 

But he _ had _ been looking at her, and something about the haunted look in her eyes triggered a memory. “Vormir,” he repeated. “That’s where you lost your sister, right?”

Her not-quite-emotionless nod had been terrible to see.

He and Steve had exchanged a look when Nebula continued and told them how Thanos had gone to Vormir with Gamora, and returned with only the Soul Stone. Vormir was their unknown factor, the one place where nobody had any idea of what to expect. Splitting up to retrieve the stones was the most efficient way to do it, sure, but splitting up was what had gotten them into this mess in the first place. So, after some blatant misuse of time travel to get their hands on some more Pym particles, they’d gone to Vormir together, the original Avengers team, just like old times. 

Hindsight was 20/20, and all that.

The Red Skull had been a nasty surprise, but almost worth it for the look on Steve’s face, and the way he’d nearly passed out before moving on to trying to figure out how he could punch a non-corporeal figure. The moment was short-lived though, as they realized exactly why the Red Skull couldn’t get his hands on the stone, and what they would have to sacrifice to take it. 

And now they were at an impasse. With six heroes, it probably shouldn’t have been a surprise that they’d each have an argument for why they should be the one to sacrifice themselves. They’d started things out light and joking, sure they’d find another way around this, that there was some way out. Clint had offered to try throwing his bow over, Nat had replied that he should try sacrificing that haircut instead, and Bruce had posited that he could probably survive the drop. But then something had shifted, as they realized there was no way around it, and their joking suggestions grew more serious. 

“It’s gotta be me, guys,” Clint said finally, elbows braced against his knees as he sat, not looking at any of them. “You know what I’ve done. It has to be me.” 

“Shut up, Barton,” Natasha snapped at him, and there was something uncharacteristically raw in her voice that had Tony frowning at her. “Just shut up,” she repeated, and it sounded a little further off.

Tony’s frown deepened. “Romanoff…” The look she gave him was pained and abruptly Tony realized that while they’d been talking she’d moved, had positioned herself closest to the edge of the cliff. “Nat!” he snapped, knowing even as he jumped to his feet that it was already too late. 

Before any of the team could make a move, Natasha had set off an electrified forcefield that illuminated the area, keeping them firmly on the other side from the cliff’s edge and separated from her. It was chaos, Bruce and Thor hollering, Clint pleading with Nat to wait, to just not do this, arguing with her when she told him this was right. Steve snapping at Tony to “get that forcefield down _ now _, Stark,” and Tony was trying, he was, but he’d created this specifically for her, there was no backup code, no failsafe, it was designed to respond to Nat, and Nat alone. He’d wanted her to have something that was just hers, that didn’t belong to SHIELD or Stark Industries or anyone else; it was meant for her safety. It wouldn’t last long, just long enough to buy her a bit of time. 

It always came down to time. 

He could hear Steve, and now Clint, yelling at him to do something, to fix it, to get the shield down, and was distantly aware of Bruce and Thor trying to do exactly that. Regret twisting painfully in his belly, Tony met Nat’s eyes through the electric grid, shaking his head. “You cheated, Romanoff,” he told her, not bothering to hide the pain in his voice, because if she could buy time, so could he. If he could stall her long enough, the shield would go down, or he could figure something out because there _ had _ to be a way around this. 

Even from where she stood on the edge of the cliff, he could see the tears in Nat’s eyes when she gave him a soft smile in reply. “Well,” she told him, and it was gentle, forgiving, but that didn’t stop sick recognition from jolting through him at her words. “It’s hard to shake the whole double agent thing. It sticks in the DNA,” she quoted, apologetic.

Everything happened too fast after that. Tony was distantly aware of someone screaming Nat’s name in a broken voice, realizing a split second later that it was him. Then he was racing toward her, some part of his brain that couldn’t turn off timing it just right. The shield went down just as he reached it, but between one second and the next Nat was gone, lost over the side of the cliff. And Tony didn’t care, he kept running, sure that if he got there fast enough he could catch her, grab her, stop this from happening, but then several people's arms were wrapped around him, holding him tight and dragging him away. 

“Tony, stop,” Steve’s voice was thick with tears but Tony ignored him, struggling. 

“Stark.” That was Clint, voice harsh in his ear as he helped Steve to drag him back from the edge. “It’s too late. She’s gone.” 

There was something strange in his voice, and that was enough to get Tony to stop, to go still in their hold. He turned to face Clint, who slowly unfurled his hand, revealing the orange stone, glowing brightly in his palm. 

“No,” Tony said, because this was Natasha, if anyone could have found a way around this, it was her. “No, this isn’t it, it doesn’t end like this.” He grabbed Clint who made no move to stop him as he fisted his hand in his shirt, shaking him a little. “Where is she?” he demanded. “Come on, Barton, you brought her in from the cold, right? Tell me! What kind of spook trick would she use to fool the stone?” 

Clint didn’t answer, didn’t even try to pull away, and Tony shook him a little harder.

“Tony!” Steve pulled him back, and Tony whirled on him. 

“Don’t!” He shouted, and some part of him knew he was being irrational, but he didn’t care. “You forget, Rogers! It was her and me first. Before there was a team, before the Avengers, before you were even above sea level! It was just us in the beginning! And I can’t— We _ can’t._” 

Steve was looking at Tony with pity, and he hated it, hated everything about this. 

He heard his voice break, scrubbed a hand over his face. “We can’t just leave her here.”

“Tony, I don’t think we have a choice. It doesn’t work like that.” 

“Then we find a way to make it work!” Tony launched back at Steve, hoarse. “This is Nat! She wouldn’t want us to just give up.” He shook his head, not understanding how they could all just be _ standing there, _ why nobody was trying to _ do _ something, to bring her back. _ Earth’s mightiest heroes. _He turned to Bruce for support; if anyone would want to go get Nat, it had to be him. 

But the man just stood there, looking helpless. “She’d want us to be okay, Tony,” he told him carefully. “That’s why she did this.” 

And, then, the real battle.

—

Then, when it was over, when he’d seen Peter and Wanda and Wilson and even thrice-damned Barnes back to the land of the living, when he could finally _rest,_ Tony found himself on the stillest, calmest water he’d ever seen, bathing in both it and the strange orange light that was cut by exactly no wind.

For one perfect, blissful second, he thought this had somehow been the worst dream of his entire life. _Snap._ But then he sat up and remembered that for all the victories of the day, Natasha wasn’t among them.

Tony found that no matter how much time passed, he still hadn’t gotten himself to his feet, was still kneeling in the cool water, head bent in grief. His charred hand was curled around something, and—divorced from it, dead to it—he found himself slamming it hard against the water, breaking the smooth surface with a furious yell before opening his palm to reveal the orange stone, glowing brightly in his hold.

_ What did it cost? _


	7. Isolation - Tony vs. Justin Hammer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1500 words by ceealaina.

It was a strange feeling, to be standing in the middle of a crowded ballroom and suddenly realize that you were completely.

utterly. 

alone. 

Tony looked around the room, taking in all the people in their designer gowns and custom jewelry, expensive hairdos and makeup and perfume. He couldn’t actually remember why he was here, some kind of gala for some kind of charity that he’d forgotten the name of, something to do with children, or animals, or the environment, probably. 

Not that he begrudged actual charities, working their asses off to make life better in some small way. But nobody here was _ doing _ anything, it was yet another excuse for a bunch of rich people to get together and show off while doing the absolute bare minimum. Raising millions of dollar sounded impressive, until you realized that it was only a tax write off for these people, and a negligible one at that. For whatever reason that he didn’t care to analyze, events like this always made him think of Yinsen now. He couldn’t help imagining what he would think if he could see all these people, all this power and wealth and influence in one room, using their cause-of-the-week as nothing more than good publicity. He could picture all too well the look of saddened disappointment that Yinsen would be wearing (the same look he’d given Tony when he’d told him that this was his legacy, his life’s work in the hands of murderers). It made him want to throw up.

(But maybe that was the palladium poisoning talking.)

There was a sudden burst of sparkling laughter off to his side, bright sounds from a group of beautiful young women that he knew from experience were designed to be as pleasant as possible, to attract the attention of the men in the room with practiced ease. 

It made Tony wince. (Like tinnitus.)

Once, he would have been drawn right over there, even knowing it was a ploy he wouldn’t have cared, would have played right into it for a beautiful woman on his arm and in his bed; now it just felt so pointless. He knew absolutely how it would go if he did indulge, how they’d fawn all over him, ask him questions about Iron Man, about SI, make barely concealed innuendos until he took them home and, sure, they’d have a good time. He’d always enjoyed sex, and he took pride in the fact that he had never left anyone wanting.

But it would just feel so empty. He didn’t think he’d ever been with anyone who had seen the real him, who had even _ wanted _ to see the real him, and wasn’t that a depressing thought? 

The next time a waiter walked back with a tray of champagne flutes, he grabbed one and downed it in one go. JARVIS would be having conniptions; he wasn’t supposed to be drinking, not with everything they were doing to try and combat the effects of the palladium poisoning, but JARVIS wasn’t here and anyway, it was just champagne. Everyone knows champagne doesn’t count, it’s not like he was going to the bar and he wasn’t some willowy Daughter of the American Revolution who couldn’t hold her bubbly, for Christ’s sake. 

The next time around, he grabbed _ two _ flutes of champagne. For just a moment, as he felt the buzz of the bubbles, he could forget that he didn’t fit here anymore, could stop following that train to the next logical thought: If he didn’t fit here, where he’d been comfortable all his life, where _ did _he fit? (Nowhere, probably.)

God, dying made him maudlin. 

“Tony!”

The too-familiar voice immediately set Tony’s entire body on edge. He knocked back the second flute, drawing in a slow breath to steel himself before turning to face the voice in question; he hadn’t thought his night could get any worse. 

“Justin,” he greeted in return, not even trying to hide the way his teeth clenched. It didn’t matter; Hammer never noticed. 

“Tony, my man! How’s it hanging?” 

“Oh god,” Tony muttered. Justin Hammer’s penchant for talking like the frat boy he’d never been was even more annoying than Tony remembered. He forced a tight smile to his face, not even caring how obviously fake it was; Justin either wouldn’t notice, or would _ pretend _ not to. “I didn’t see your name on the guest list,” he told him. “If I had, I would’ve stayed home.” 

Justin laughed, too loud, like he actually thought it was a joke, and clapped an arm around Tony’s shoulder. Tony winced as he landed right on a bruise. He bruised so easily these days. “Such a kidder,” Justin announced, beaming at the two women who turned over to stare at them. “Always goofing around, my man Tony. Let’s hear it for Iron Man, eh?” 

Tony didn’t bother hiding his eye roll, and the women turned back without responding. “What do you want, Justin? I’ve got… Literally anything else to do.”

Justin laughed too loud again, and he clearly wasn’t going away any time soon and Tony grabbed another flute of champagne. “I just wanted to thank you, Tony. Stepping out of the weapons business? Really opening some doors for me. But I was thinking, why do we have to be competitors? I know, I know, you’re out of weapons. But hear me out! I’ve heard some rumors about you, Tones—”

“Don’t call me that,” Tony muttered. 

“Rumors that you’re making strides in AI. I think we could do great things together.” 

It took six more flutes of champagne before Tony finally started to feel a buzz, to feel _ something_. He was definitely past tipsy now, but whatever. He’d just drink a double dose of chlorophyll when he got home. Anyway, he needed it; Tony had tuned him out long ago, but Justin was still droning on, his arm now wrapped a little too tight around Tony’s shoulders. Tony blinked, startled to find they’d been joined by the two women from before. They were pressed in close, hanging on Justin’s words as he talked about contracts and money. 

Tony was suddenly furious. Everyone here, all these society… leeches. They were all going to outlive him, and it just… It wasn’t _ fair_. His hand clenched reflexively, and there was a sudden startled gasp from the women as the champagne flute cracked in his hand. 

“Shit,” Tony muttered, turning towards the bar for somewhere to drop the glass before it could cut his hand. He didn’t realize until he started to move, but the champagne had hit him harder than he realized. He blinked a few times, trying to get his bearings, and then Justin was pressed up beside him again. 

“Whoa, take it easy there, huh Tony? What do you say we go somewhere quiet, hash out the details, huh?” 

“Yeah, sure,” Tony mumbled. Anything to get out of this place, away from all these people who would get to live while he only had months left. He wasn’t paying attention as Justin led them down staircases and through hallways; he’d snagged another flute of champagne on the way out, and uncaring of how tipsy he already was, he sipped as they walked. He wanted to be out of there, wanted to be… home. 

He couldn’t tell them, didn’t know how, couldn’t admit that he’d tried everything, but he couldn’t stop it. That he’d finally managed to fail at something, and it was the one thing that mattered the most. But suddenly, more than anything, he wanted to be home with Pepper and Rhodey and Happy and the bots. He was done with parties, and galas, and society. Dying sucked, but if it was happening regardless, forget going out with a bang. He’d much rather spend his last few days hanging out at home with the people he loved. Just like old times.

(If they’d ever really been like that, and it wasn’t just his imminent demise giving him some kind of misremembered nostalgia.)

Tony almost startled as he realized that they’d been stopped for a few moments, and _ wow. _ Apparently palladium poisoning had drastically lowered his alcohol tolerance. No wonder JARVIS had been so intent on his sobriety. He realized Hammer was talking again and turned only to find him right up in his business, practically pressing against Tony’s back. 

“What the shit?” Tony said before he could stop himself. 

Justin tilted his head curiously, smarmy smile firmly in place. “We’re discussing a collaboration! We’re going to do great things together.” His hand settled just above Tony’s wrist, weirdly familiar, and Tony stared at it, then Justin’s face, then the champagne flute in his other hand. 

“Yeah, I’m done,” he said, putting the glass down and walking out without another word to the spluttering idiot behind him. Months left to live, and he was wasting his time here? He was done. If he had to die, he wanted to be somewhere he was loved.

He was going home. Now.


	8. Stab Wound - Tony & Nebula

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 650 words by ceealaina.

Tony woke with a start. His body was hot and clammy and he didn’t know where he was, everything dim and too bright all at once. For one brief, terrible moment he thought he was back in Afghanistan, waking up in a cave with a car battery wired into his chest. 

And then he remembered, remembered Titan, remembered Peter disappearing in his arms, remembered that they’d _ lost_. 

This was much worse than Afghanistan. 

He blinked, taking in his surroundings as best he could when his head was pounding so hard he could barely open his eyes. His experience was limited, but he was pretty sure he was on another spaceship. He held perfectly still, wondering how he’d gotten here, wondering if Thanos and friends had come back, after they’d gotten what they wanted. If he’d come back for Tony, was taking him back to finish the job, or maybe just to see what he’d done. If they were taking Tony back to Earth, to show him the full measure of his failure. 

Wondered who was even left on Earth. Wondered if any of the Avengers were left, if Rhodey, if Pepper— 

The noise that escaped him then was entirely involuntary and he stilled, frozen in a terror that he hadn’t felt for all his time on Titan. There was silence for a long minute, and then,

“You’ve woken.” 

The voice was cool, detached, vaguely familiar. Tony strained his neck to see, grunting as the movement sent fire through his abdomen and then the blue robot girl—_ Nebula _—was coming into view. 

“I didn’t know if you would,” she told him. “That wound is deep, and you were unconscious for a long time.” 

“Where—” Tony choked, tried again. “Where are we?”

“Quill’s ship. Titan was collapsing, and…” There was hesitation in her voice. “You were the only one left.” 

“Oh, well.” Tony felt hot and feverish, and not entirely sure that he wasn’t dreaming. “Thanks for not leaving me there, I guess?”

He shifted then, trying to look around, and then gasped as pain rocketed up through his abdomen, vision whiting out. He clenched his teeth against a pained moan, trying to tamp down on the searing pain going through him. It felt like an eternity before it subsided again, leaving Tony breathing hard. 

“Terrans,” Nebula muttered and Tony could only surmise what a ‘Terran’ was, but he was pretty sure she meant it as an insult. “Don’t move,” she told him. “You’re only going to make the wound worse.” 

Ignoring her, Tony craned his neck, trying to see and wincing at the pull of his muscles. His lower abdomen was exposed, and from what he could see of it, the injury was still gaping and seeping blood, the skin around it an angry red. He lifted his arm enough to press his hand against his stomach, just beside the hole in his body. It stung like a motherfucker, but beyond that his skin was fiery hot to the touch. Tony slumped back, staring up at the ceiling, blinking against the sudden burn in his eyes. 

“Great,” he said dryly, because sarcasm made it easier to distance himself. “I survived space travel and alien fights and Thanos’s disintegration party, and now I’m going to die of an _ infection_.”

“You can_ not _ die.” 

Tony startled as Nebula was suddenly leaning into view, her eyes fierce. 

“You made Thanos _ bleed_,” she told him, like that had meant something in the end. “You are not dying here. I’m going to heal you and then we are going to find Thanos and destroy him for what he has taken from us.” 

They both knew there was no real ‘we,’ no ‘us.’ Tony barely knew this girl, had met her only hours ago. Even if that weren’t the case, it was over, it was done. They had failed. 

But right at that moment, Tony almost believed.


	9. Shackled - Tony & Quentin Beck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1700 words by ceealaina.

Tony was the first to admit that he had something of a reputation when it came to his sex life. But that had been when he was young and stupid, and even if he were so inclined, fucking his handsome, _ much _ younger subordinate was a little too close to the skeezy old businessman cliché for Tony’s taste. Dating in the work pool? That never ended well. 

(Pepper didn’t count, obviously. She’d been a perfect, wonderful, dream of an exception and it still made Tony’s chest ache to think of what he lost there.) 

Which was why he had told exactly no one about his crush on Quentin Beck. 

***

It was embarrassing, really, the way Tony found himself grinning as he headed into R&D, the way he’d find himself picking up an extra cup of coffee if he knew he’d be seeing Beck, when he’d never shown that kind of consideration before. He had to temper himself from laughing too hard at Quentin’s dumb jokes, trying not to be totally obvious; Quentin’s grin when Tony had started calling him ‘Q’ and making James Bond jokes had stuck with him for a week. 

He knew, really, that it was a form of distraction, that he knew lots of basic facts about Quentin, but those were just surface layer, not enough to really know _ him. _ That hoping he’d run into the man every time he got hauled in for a board meeting was probably a little much and that his little collection of details probably didn’t line up with how badly he was crushing. That he was projecting fantasies onto Quentin, and putting him on a bit of a pedestal. But after Pepper left, and the mess of Ultron… It was kind of refreshing. And it was harmless, not hurting anyone, so he let himself enjoy his crush. 

At least, it was harmless right up until it wasn’t. 

Quentin had become integral to the BARF project, quickly becoming Tony’s second-hand guy, and more often than not it was the two of them working long hours alone, not trusting anyone else with the more intricate work. So Tony told himself that it made sense it would just be the two of them when they got to the preliminary testing phase. Sure there were procedures and precautions that they probably should have been implementing, but Tony had always been a believer in running before you walk. 

Quentin had tried to talk Tony into letting him play lab rat, but his joke about how, in case of severe brain damage, Tony should be the one they save, had convinced Tony that he should absolutely be the one to be the test subject. They may have been playing fast and loose with the rules here, but there were limits. Tony risking himself was one thing. Risking his employee? A lawsuit waiting to happen at _ best_. 

So he’d convinced Quentin to let him be the test subject, for the first trial at least, and they’d started setting up the system. Tony moved to double check everything automatically, making sure the settings were right until Quentin had given him a crooked smile. 

“Sit down, boss,” he told him. “You’re making me nervous. We’ll start the test in a minute. I want to do things by the book. Especially for you, sir.” 

Tony had enough practice in playing it cool that he managed to keep his embarrassed squirm to the inside. Who was he, his father? Hovering over everybody and double-checking their work. Jesus. 

He settled into the chair in question, already making plans to enhance the system, turn it into something fully interactive, allowing someone to ‘physically’ engage with their memories, going fully holographic instead of a VR type of setting. Half distracted by math and science, and half distracted by taking advantage of Quentin’s turned back to ogle his ass — those were some well-fitted pants, it would be rude not to appreciate the view — he startled when Quentin turned to him with padded restraints in his hand.

“Uhh…” He blinked at them and Quentin laughed.

“Relax, sir. We talked about this, remember. Don’t want you hurting yourself trying to interact with people who aren’t there, or walking into the lab equipment, right?” 

“Right.” Tony didn’t actually remember that conversation, but it made sense, and those kinds of details tended to slip past him. Which was how he had managed to set one of his favourite cars on fire the first time he flew the Iron Man suit, so really, Quentin probably had a point. So he swallowed down the slight wave of panic at the thought of being tied down, and let Quentin restrain him to the chair and start the machine. 

It was a rush at first, flicking through his memories so fast that it left him a little bit dizzy. They’d planned to start light, just make sure the program worked before they got into anything heavy, and Tony grinned when Rhodey appeared, giving Tony a familiar look. 

Then he realized exactly what this memory was and his body tensed in embarrassment. 

“What kind of a name is Quentin anyway?” Rhodey was asking. “Hope you know what you’re doing man. Crushing on a coworker is never a good idea.” 

“Oh god,” Tony muttered as the memory dissolved, leaving him back in the room with Quentin. “That wasn’t what it sounded like?” 

Quentin was grinning, bright and sharp. “Don’t worry about it, sir. It happens.”

“Must be some kind of narcissist, to be into someone so much younger than me,” Tony muttered. Quentin’s grin grew, but he didn’t comment further.

“Should we try again?” he asked instead. “Maybe go a little deeper, now that we know that it works?”

Needing to get out of _ this _ moment, Tony nodded. This time it was a memory from his teens, Howard yelling at him for wasting his time with robots and AI his first year at university. He’d been sixteen. It was to be expected, but it still left him feeling a little off-kilter when they pulled him back out. And he knew Quentin’s little ‘oh, poor baby,’ was meant to be sympathetic, but it just made him twitch. 

Telling himself it was just the sensation of rifling through his memories, he gave Quentin a smile. “Thanks for this, by the way. I know it’s your job, but it’s refreshing to see someone put so much passion into something that’s not strictly useful or practical, you know? Most people wouldn’t make that kind of commitment to something like this.” 

For just a minute, Quentin was still, blinking back at him. Then he was grinning again. “Let’s go again, huh?”

By the third round, Tony was feeling dizzy and disoriented. His head was pounding, and his wrists were tender from where he kept inadvertently pulling against the restraints every time he went under. While he’d call the first trials an unequivocal success, there were definitely going to need to be some adjustments made before releasing it to the world at large. Now that he was _ in _ it, too, seeing how real the setup felt, Tony was also realizing what a huge potential for misuse there could be. Imagine if the military got wind of this. Imagine if they made it _ mobile- _

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s call it quits. Good job, team. Pizza for everyone.” 

And maybe it was his imagination, but Quentin’s smile seemed just a little stilted this time. “Aww, come on, boss. Once more? I want to get a bit more data.” 

Tony opened his mouth to protest, but... once more couldn’t hurt. 

Except it wasn’t once more. Each time Quentin had an excuse to put him under again, and maybe it was his imagination, maybe it was the high-stress memories he was reliving, but every time it seemed that Beck’s smile got just a little tighter. He never raised his voice, never lost the vaguely flirtatious rapport that had built between them, but he was just a little off, seeming more and more strained each time. And it was saying something, that Tony was picking up on the manic energy in the room. That was like a snowman being alarmed at the cold; it was just wrong.

By the last time, when Beck had put him back down almost before he had the chance to protest, Tony had had enough. He felt like he couldn’t catch his breath when the memory dissolved, and he yanked at the restraints. 

“We’re done!” he yelled, voice echoing across the almost empty room. “It’s over, untie me right the fuck now!” 

“Hey, hey, hey.” Immediately Beck was there, concern on his face, disconnecting Tony from the machine. “It’s okay, I’m right here. No need to yell; I would have let you out. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was that bad. Don’t get emotional.” 

He was the picture of worry as he undid the restraints, even rubbing some of the feeling back into Tony’s wrists, and Tony felt a bit bad for yelling. He was his boss, after all; it was his job to communicate clearly. The memories were throwing him off-centre, and he should have been able to tell Beck firmly when the trial was over. Yelling at him after the fact wasn’t going to help anything. 

“Sorry,” he muttered, standing up and grimacing when his back popped. He still felt disoriented, found himself wondering what time it was. “I need coffee. Let’s call it a night, yeah? Come back to it fresh tomorrow?” 

The smile Quentin gave him was warm, but something about it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You go on ahead, sir. I just want to analyze some of the data.” 

And Tony knew it was probably just him, that his judgment might be a little skewed right now. But you didn’t get to play superhero this long without having some grasp of your instincts. Quentin was probably harmless, but Tony had let him get too close to the project, obviously. Beck needed to take a step back and use his talents elsewhere. 

Tony left a message with HR to have him removed immediately. (It didn't even occur to him to explain that they hadn't actually fucked.)


	10. Unconscious - Tony/Pepper/Rhodey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2900 words by ceealaina.

Some days, Tony still couldn’t believe he’d somehow snagged Pepper Potts. He’d had a crush on her since almost the moment they’d met, and had dealt with it when he had real feelings—come on entirely too strong and made a general nuisance of himself. Somehow she’d stayed anyway, and while Tony had managed to keep it to a not-quite-subtle flirtation after that, it hadn’t stopped him from falling more in love with her every day. He and been a thing since university, more than friends with benefits but not quite a full relationship. He didn’t love the man any less than he loved Pepper, but it was… Different. And Tony felt no shame in being greedy enough to want them both. 

But Pepper had seen him at the lowest of his lows, found him lying in his own puke both metaphorically and literally. After all the chaos of Iron Man, of Stane, of Tony deciding mid-press conference to throw secrecy out the window, he’d have expected her to have one foot out the door. But he’d pulled her back after said press conference, had laid it all out on the line and told her with complete honesty how much he cared about her, how much he wanted her in his life, Pepper had brushed a curl back from his forehead, called him an idiot, and kissed him square him on the mouth. 

And later that night, when they were both sprawled across the bed, naked and panting (Pepper Potts was a woman who knew  _ exactly _ what she wanted) she had turned to him and told him that she hoped this wasn’t going to change things between he and Rhodey, because that was something she’d been dreaming about getting in on for years now. Tony had laughed for five minutes straight, hadn’t been able to help it. He didn’t think he’d ever been this happy before. It felt like things in his life were finally right.

Then the palladium poisoning symptoms started. 

He’d tried everything, at first, when he’d realized what was going on. Had locked himself in the lab for a week straight, running through scenario after scenario, trying to figure out a way out of this. He had JARVIS running tests on every possible element, trying to find some kind of replacement for the core, had even considered the likelihood of survival if he went for surgery to have both the reactor and the shrapnel removed. 

He wasn’t sure when it happened, but slowly his attitude had shifted. No longer confident that he’d find a way around this, he had grown more scared—and more symptomatic—by the day. 

Now he wasn’t even scared, just resigned (and angry, if he stopped to think about too long, so he didn’t). He still had JARVIS running diagnostics, checking and rechecking every possibility, but it was more his inability to leave things alone than out of any real expectation of finding a solution. Instead, he found himself holding everything a little bit closer, cataloguing little everyday moments, things he wouldn’t have even thought twice about before. Happy talking nonstop about the boxing match he’d seen, the little smile that Rhodey would try to hide when he was entertained by some dumbass thing that Tony had done but was trying to pretend he wasn’t. The soft little smiles that Pepper would give him before leaving a room when she thought he wasn’t looking, smiles he’d missed before, distracted by work and the never-ceasing ideas and equations filtering through his brain. Smiles that he now knew meant ‘I love you.’ 

God, leaving her behind was going to hurt worst of all. 

He knew he had to tell them. He was pretty sure Rhodey suspected something was going on already (he’d never been able to hide anything from Rhodey) and it wasn’t fair not to give them time to adjust and prepare before he was gone. He’d planned to a million times over, rehearsed the words, decided exactly how he should do it. But then Pepper would laugh, or lean in to give him a soft kiss, and she’d look so happy that he couldn’t do it, couldn’t take that away from her. 

He’d been working in the lab, stuck on an idea that had turned out to be nothing, when Pepper had come down. He had glanced up at the sound of her footsteps, offering her a quick smile, before doing a double-take. She was barefoot, hair down from its customary ponytail to fall loosely over her shoulders. Framed in the glass doorway, she looked absolutely beautiful. 

She was also wearing one of his The Clash t-shirts and, from the looks of it, not a single thing else. Tony blinked and Pepper smirked at him, making it very clear that she knew exactly what she was doing to him. She moved across the room, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and leaning down to kiss the top of his head. Tony let himself lean into it, head pillowed against her stomach. She smelled fresh and clean, the faint scent of her body wash pleasant and comforting. 

“Come on,” she murmured into his temple. She caught his hand and took a step back, trying to pull him with her. “You’re working too hard. Come to bed with me.” 

“Yup,” Tony nearly stumbled as he got to his feet after her, gesturing at JARVIS for a save and shut down. “Yup, sounds good.” 

Tony knew that before long he’d have to be hiding his body, coming up with excuses to leave his shirt on around her. But fuck, was he grateful that they weren’t there yet when they ended up on the bed, Pepper straddling his lap and tugging his t-shirt off over his head. She beamed at the sight of his hair, ruffled from the shirt, and combed her fingers gently through it, brushing the curls back from his face. She was so soft, so careful with him that it made Tony’s chest ache and he buried his face in her neck, dragging his teeth over the tendon that always made her shiver as he slid his hands up under the back of the t-shirt, teasing his fingers up over her spine. She shifted in his lap, sitting a little higher, and Tony groaned at the friction, the buzz of pleasure that went through him. He pulled his head to blink up at her. 

“God, you’re beautiful,” he breathed, delighting in the soft flush that crept across Pepper’s cheeks at his words. 

“Sweet talker,” she accused. “You know you’ve already got me in your bed, Mr. Stark.” 

Tony shuddered, the way he always did when she called him ‘Mr. Stark’ in  _ that _ tone of voice. “Well, get in here then, Ms Potts,” he grumbled, voice ragged as he fisted his hand in the front of her shirt and dragged her in for a kiss, rough and needy. Pepper giggled against his lips, long, delicate fingers brushing over his nipples and making him gasp before they moved to deftly unfasten his pants. Pepper gave him a shove, until he was splayed out on his back beneath her, and Tony let his head roll back into their mountains of pillows as she began following the same path with her mouth. She could play him like a fiddle, knew every spot to send pleasure washing over him, and Tony let his eyes fall shut as he lost himself to the sensations.

***

“Tony!”

Tony woke slowly, shifting groggily before he opened his eyes to find Pepper staring down at him. Her face with white, the freckles on her cheeks standing out in sharp relief and forming constellations and Tony grinned at her dopily before the concern on her expression registered. 

“Tony,” she said again, relief in her voice now. “Are you alright?” 

“Hmm?” he asked, before it came back to him and he was suddenly wide awake. “Oh shit, did I… Did I fall asleep?!” 

There was a hint of a smile on her lips now, although her brows were still furrowed in concern. “Yep.” 

“Oh god, Pep. I don’t… I’ve never. I’m so sorry.” 

She giggled a little at that. “Let me guess, that’s never happened before?” 

He rolled his eyes and gave her a light shove. She tipped into it before coming back and brushing a strand of hair back from his forehead. “You alright?” she asked again. “I’m worried about you.” She stretched along the length of his body, her chest resting against his as she pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you’re working too hard. Between SI and Iron Man… I’m worried you’re overexerting yourself. I don’t want you to burn out.” 

Tony felt a pang at that. If she only knew. 

“I’m fine,” he told her. Pepper continued looking unconvinced and he twisted a bit of her hair around his finger and gave it a playful tug. “I’m fine! Just been a long week.” 

Pepper stared at him a moment longer, and Tony was sure she could see everything written on his face. He forced himself to meet her eyes, to not look like he was hiding something, and after a minute she pressed another soft kiss against his lips. 

“You want to call it a night?” she asked. “Order some pizza, fall asleep in front of a stupid movie?” 

And honestly, that sounded fantastic, and Tony loved her for the fact that she would do it. But her legs were still straddling his thigh, and he could feel how into this she was, and she hadn’t been able to hide the briefest flicker of disappointment on her face when she’d made the suggestion. 

“Hey, no, come on.” He gave her hair another tug and then flipped them, making Pepper squeal as she ended up sprawled out beneath him, Tony bracing himself on his elbows to loom over her. “What are you suggesting here, Potts? I’ve got a reputation to protect.” 

He kissed her, deep and heavy until Pepper was scratching at his back and he could feel the pleasure stirring through his body once more. This was fine, this was good. There was still a heavy haze of exhaustion clouding the back of his mind, but as long as he stayed actively involved, he could push through it. And Pepper was beautiful like this, pale skin laid out for him, her chest heaving as he teased her. It was ridiculous to think that he could pass this up. 

***

He woke from a sharp pinch to his shoulder to find his face pillowed in Pepper’s breasts. He clued in much faster this time, and couldn’t help groaning in defeat. For a moment he seriously considered just staying here forever. Although, it could have been worse, he supposed. At least he hadn’t worked his way down to eating her out yet. 

“Tony? You’re too heavy.”

Pepper’s voice was just a little strained, and Tony quickly pushed himself up on his hands, fighting back a wince at the sudden exhaustion that flooded through his limbs. He gave her a sheepish look. “Um. Hi!” 

Pepper gave him a wan smile in return. “Come on,” she said, slipping out from under the frame of his body. “Let’s just go to bed.”

“No, come on,” Tony protested; as much as he really did want that, it had been a couple weeks since their schedules had lined up for more than a quick dinner and passing each other in the halls. He knew how badly Pepper would be wanting this. “We can work this out.” 

She cast a look at him over her shoulder, and her smile was so soft and so loving that it physically hurt. “It’s okay Tony, really. I’m more worried about you.”

“I’m fine!” Tony insisted, again. Pepper clearly didn’t believe him at all, and he huffed, scrubbing a hand through his hair, trying to think of any excuse that might work. “Look, I just… You tell this to anyone, Ms Potts, and I’ll deny it with my last breath, but I’m… Maybe… Getting a bit older.” 

Pepper arched an eyebrow at him, and Tony laughed. 

“I can’t believe you’re making me say this, Pep. I maybe can’t quite keep up with the Frosh schedule as easily as I once did, okay? It was just one too many all-nighters in the lab this week. That’s it, I promise.” 

(He ignored the weird way his stomach squirmed at those last words.)

Pepper blinked at him. “Wow,” she said, and for a minute Tony thought she knew everything, was about to call him out. 

(For a minute, he almost hoped that was the case.)

“Woooow,” she said again, drawing it out as she glanced up. “JARVIS, please tell me that you got that recorded.” 

Tony just rolled his eyes and flopped over until his back, folding his arms across his chest. “This is why I have trust issues,” he grumbled. But a minute later he was smiling as Pepper crawled across the bed to kiss his cheek. 

“Thank you for admitting that,” she whispered softly. “And I suppose that’s fair. Let me just go put on some pajamas. I’m demanding cuddles as recompense.”

Like they didn’t both know that Tony was the cuddler in the relationship, that Pepper had been hoping for something a little more intense tonight, like she wasn’t doing this for Tony. 

“Hey, wait.” He grabbed her wrist before she could get too far, pulling her back toward him. “What if we called in some backup instead?” 

Rhodey was, as it turned out, both enthusiastically onboard and less than ten minutes away. But despite the short turn around, Tony was already dozing again by the time he’d arrived. He’d thought about getting up, grabbing a cup of coffee. He was tired enough that he didn’t think it would really keep him from sleeping, just give him enough of a jolt to see them settled, maybe watch for a bit because god, Pepper and Rhodey all wrapped up in each other was one of his favourite images, only surpassed by the Iron Man armour. 

But all of that had just felt like too much work, the effort of getting out of the bed, and dragging himself to the kitchen, and drinking down the mug feeling impossible. It was so much easier to pull the lofty duvet over his naked body, let his head melt into the sea of pillows. 

He woke when Rhodey arrived though. He laid there for a moment, blinking at the ceiling as he listened to the low cadence of their voices filtering in from the hallway, not bothering to try and decipher what they were saying. The timbre of Rhodey’s voice was low and familiar, eternally comforting, but at the same time, it hurt Tony to hear. He didn’t want this, the heavy pull of sleep no longer feeling pleasant. He wanted to be out there with them, laughing, and touching, and kissing.

Eyes burning, he closed them just as the door clicked open. He couldn’t have said why he didn’t open them as Pepper and Rhodey both slipped inside, why he kept his breathing as even as he could manage, feigning sleep. They were quiet for a minute, long enough that Tony was starting to feel stupid for not just opening his eyes and at least saying hello. Then there were movements toward the bed, and two sets of lips kissing him so gently he wanted to cry, one on the cheek, one on the forehead. 

“We’ll let you sleep,” Rhodey hummed, his voice warm. Tony was so cold, all the time now. “Catch you later, Tones.” 

Tony shifted as they moved away again, opening his eyes in time to see them leave. Rhodey was dressed casually, jeans and a soft-looking t-shirt, his hand low on Pepper’s back as he led her out the door, the touch familiar and easy. He leaned into whisper something to Pepper just as the door shut behind them, and Tony could hear them laughing together in the hall, soft and intimate and  _ happy _ , and he quickly turned to bury his face in the pillow so they wouldn’t hear the pained sound that slipped out of his mouth, involuntary. 

They were  _ good _ together, they were right. He loved seeing them like that, had always loved watching them, the easy way they complimented each other. And he was glad they would have each other, after… after he was gone. It made it easier, somehow, to know that they’d have that support, have someone to lean on who would really  _ get _ it.

It didn’t stop him from wanting to scream and cry and throw things. He was furious that he had to leave them, that just like that he’d be gone. He’d never said it before, but he loved them both so completely that his entire body ached with it sometimes. And at the same time, he was so jealous of them both, that he had to leave them while they’d get to stay, get to live out long, happy lives without him. 

Tony choked at that, stifling that noise against the pillow. He told himself it was just the exhaustion when hot tears spilled over his cheeks.. 

(Stark men were made of iron.)

He closed his eyes tightly and waited for sleep to pull him under.


	11. Stitches - Tony/Bucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1135 words by ceealaina.

Tony cursed to himself as he threaded the hooked needle, hand shaking a little. Days like this, he really, _ really _ missed Banner. Sure, with the New Accords the team had been reinstated, everyone back Stateside, and he technically had a whole whack of teammates that he could have called to help him with this. But while he (generally) trusted them to have his back in a battle, he wasn’t quite ready to show them this level of vulnerability again. After all, he’d let them all in once before, and look where that had gotten him.

So he’d hidden the nasty, stitch-worthy gash he’d gotten on his forearm, had assured his teammates he was fine, and had even managed to sit through the debriefing while keeping his fidgeting at most normal levels. 

And then, as soon as the meeting had been called to a close, Tony had made a break for the safety of his lab, where he could be free to stitch himself up. Which he was absolutely going to do. Any minute now. As soon as imagining the press of the needle into his skin stopped making him want to puke. 

And that was when the doors opened and Barnes walked in. Tony froze, needle in hand and arm throbbing, and stared up at Barnes with wide eyes. 

“Uhh… this isn’t what it looks like?”

Barnes had gone still at the sight of him, but at that he huffed out a breath and rolled his eyes. “Really? So you didn’t lie about getting injured on the mission, and are now hiding down here trying stitch your own damn self because you don’t trust the rest of the team?”

“Oh.” Tony blinked. “Then yeah, I guess it kind of is what it looks like. I thought you’d think it was a sex thing or something.” Barnes stared at him like there was something wrong with him, and Tony flushed, avoiding his gaze. “I’m that obvious, huh?”

Barnes shrugged. “You hide it fairly well, I’m just observant. Besides _ I _wouldn’t trust us, if I were in your place.”

“Yeah, well. Keeping the world safe is more important than petty differences, even if it doesn’t feel like it some days.”

“Still… after, uh.” Bucky cleared his throat. “After Siberia…” He trailed off with a wince when Tony visibly twitched. 

“Anyway,” Tony said. “The topical anesthetic is going to wear off soon, so if you could just… Skedaddle.” 

He was amazed he’d stopped himself from telling him outright to fuck off; Pepper would be proud. 

But then, to his surprise, Bucky just shook his head. “Yeah, I don’t think so.” 

Tony blinked at him. “Ex_ cuse _ me?” 

Bucky gave him a pointed look. “Your hand is shaking.” His voice was dry, immediately setting Tony further on edge. 

“Yeah, because it _ hurts _.” 

“Your _ other _ hand,” Bucky replied, not hiding the exasperation in his voice. Tony glanced down to see that the needle in his hand was, in fact, shaking. “You’re gonna leave a hell of a scar trying to stitch it like that. You ever even stitch someone before?” 

Tony didn’t answer, setting his jaw and stubbornly looking away from him. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Bucky sighed, and then moved forward, telegraphing his steps until he was right in front of Tony. “Give me the needle.” 

Tony didn’t exactly hand it to him, but he did nothing to stop it as Bucky slid the thin metal out of the grip. 

“I’m not going to the hospital,” Tony told him, chest tightening at the mere thought. “I can’t… I hate… I’m not going to the hospital.”

“Nobody said anything about the damn hospital,” Bucky grunted, hooking a stool with his foot and dragging it over. He plunked himself down and eyed the needle a moment, then, “Arm.” 

Painkillers and shock were the only reason that Tony could think for why he did exactly that, settling his arm across Barnes’ thighs. He didn’t have time to think about what the fuck he was doing—and with whom—before Bucky was setting the needle to his skin. It didn’t hurt at all, Barnes’ hand steady and quick, and Tony watched in a kind of horrified fascination as the skin was pulled tight. 

“Where did you learn to do that?” he asked.

Bucky flicked his gaze up at him. “The Soldier’s expected to keep himself in working order,” he told him, voice empty and mechanic, and Tony winced with his entire body. “Hold still,” Bucky told him gruffly, hand squeezing around Tony’s wrist. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t think…”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but there was a twitch to his lips. “Don’t worry about it. It’s far from the worst thing I had to do.”

Tony clenched his teeth and looked away again, because they both knew what worse things he had been forced to do. Any sort of warm feelings he might have had toward the man evaporated as quickly as they had come. He didn’t dare pull back now, but he wanted this done already. Logically knowing that Bucky wasn’t responsible didn’t make looking him in the eye while thinking about everything he’d cost Tony any easier. 

As if reading his thoughts (or maybe just his facial expressions — Tony wasn’t exactly trying to be subtle), Bucky sighed. “Look Stark, you don’t have to like me. But you pull this shit again, and I’m telling Steve. Just come to me next time. I won’t make it a thing.” 

That started Tony out of his funk, and he stared at Bucky incredulously. “Did you just threaten to tattle on me?” 

Bucky shrugged. “Steve would make it a thing.” 

“Yeah,” Tony admitted, and then, almost in unison, he and Bucky both spoke. “That’s kind of _ his _ thing.” 

Tony blinked at him, and Bucky’s lips twitched again. “Ah, so you _ do _ know what a colossal pain in the ass Steve Rogers is,” he said. 

Tony resolutely bit back the laugh that threatened to escape. Tried to remind himself that Bucky wasn’t his friend. 

(Tried to ignore the voice in his head telling him that he didn’t have many friends, that one more wouldn’t hurt. )

He was still thinking about that when Bucky leaned back. “All done,” he announced, and Tony pulled his arm back. He hadn’t even noticed Bucky finishing up, and he stared in awe at the neat line of stitches. 

“I barely felt a thing,” he said softly, earning him a small, tentative smile from Bucky. The smile disappeared after a moment, looking like he was steeling himself for something, and then Bucky curled a hand around Tony’s forearm, and squeezing gently. 

“I mean it,” he told him. “Come to me next time.” And then he was heading for the door, leaving Tony sitting there, wondering what the hell had just happened.


	12. "Don't Move" - Tony & Morgan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1020 words by ceealaina

Four years. 

It was almost four years later, and still sometimes Tony had nightmares. 

Nightmares of Titan, of sunlight so bright it hurt his eyes, of a dead landscape, dried up and turned to dust. 

Of Thanos, stabbing him through the side, telling he hoped earth remembered him. (Tony, upon returning to his ruined planet, had done everything in his power to make sure they forgot.)

Of Peter Parker, in his arms, begging him—

Tony inhaled sharply, closing his eyes against the thought. It didn’t help, the image burned into his retinas. He’d been lying here for the better part of fifteen minutes, trying to calm down enough to go back to sleep. He slept a lot more now, since the whole almost-dying-in-space thing. He’d made a full recovery, officially, but something had changed. He was never quite sure if it was in his head or not, but some of what had made him _ him _was gone. He still loved creating, and engineering and letting his mind go wild, but seventy-two-hour work binges no longer held the same appeal, he didn’t seem to get the same enjoyment out of proving himself to be the smartest man in the room.

(Because where had that genius been when it really mattered?)

And since Morgan had been born? He just wanted to be home with her, all the time. He found himself genuinely looking forward to regular mealtimes and family dinners. Found himself actually enjoying sleep, the steady breathing of Pepper beside him comforting in a way he’d never found it before. Except for nights like this. 

Pepper was still asleep beside him, fortunately sleeping through his abrupt wake-up call. He tried to let the steady in/out of her breathing soothe him, to match his own breathing to hers, but it wasn’t working. He felt antsy and paranoid and his heart was racing, body on high alert. It was in his head, he knew it was in his head, but he couldn’t seem to get the message to his body. And after the fifth time that a random creak in the floorboards nearly made him jump, body tensing all over again, he finally called it quits and slid out of bed. 

Pepper didn’t wake as he slipped out of bed and into the hallway, shutting the door softly behind him. The house was quiet and still, but it didn’t make him feel any better. He moved down the hall to Morgan’s room, and while the antsiness didn’t go away, something in his heart eased at the sight of her. Newly graduated to her big girl bed, she was splayed out across the mattress, sound asleep and blankets kicked somewhere around her feet. Smiling at the sight of her, Tony covered her back up and rescued her teddy from the floor. She didn’t wake up, but her arms pulled the stuffed animal into a hug, and Tony grinned as he brushed her mess of curls out of her face and kissed her forehead before heading downstairs. 

It didn’t take him long to do a circuit of the house, checking that everything was in place, all the security systems set and functional. There was nothing wrong, everything was normal, just as he’d known it would be, but he still didn’t feel any better. Knowing he wouldn’t be getting back to sleep any time, Tony headed for the garage, hoping that getting elbows deep in some tech would be enough to calm himself down. 

It worked, a little. He could still feel his heart racing, body tense and on high alert, but it at least distracted him enough to get the images out of his head. Absurdly, the memory came to mind of Steve, talking about trusting your instincts. Clearly, the man had never faced anxiety, had never had his instincts actively working against him. 

This thought was still lingering in his brain when he heard a noise behind him, in the doorway. This wasn’t a creak, or the sound of the house settling, it was the very deliberate step of someone trying to sneak up on him. For half a moment all he could think was ‘goddammit, don’t tell me Rogers was _ right _,’ and then he was springing into action, shouting “don’t move!” as he whirled around, repulsor pointed and aimed at the person in question. 

And then he felt his heart drop into his stomach as he was met with Morgan, staring up at him with big brown eyes and a killer smile. “Daddy, are you playing with_ out _ me?” she demanded, all smiles, no idea how what Tony had almost… How close she’d come to…

His knees gave out and he sank to the floor, tossing the repulsor across the room, and pulling Morgan into his lap. He drew in a heaving breath, burying his face in her soft curls as he fought tears. He clutched her close to him, probably too tight, but she didn’t complain, just snuggled into his chest, drawing the pattern of his t-shirt with her fingers. He couldn’t help the sob that slipped out, more of a choking noise as he fought it back, not wanting to scare her. But Morgan just hummed softly, then squirmed around until she could face him, tapping his head in a way that was clearly meant to be soothing and then tangling her tiny little fingers in his hair as she tried to brush it back. 

“It’s okay, Daddy,” she told him matter-of-factly, parroting the words they used to soothe her when she was upset. “It’s okay to cry. You’re safe, I’m here.” 

***

Pepper found them there a few hours later, Tony sprawled across the floor of the garage, Morgan across his chest, both of them snoring softly. She woke Tony with a soft kiss on his forehead, and there was a question in her eyes but she didn’t ask why Morgan was out of bed, or why they were on the garage floor, or why there were tears still staining Tony’s cheeks. 

“Come on, Tony,” she told him instead, and her voice was so soothing it almost ached. “I made breakfast.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is from last year's Whumptober. We're gonna try and finish these by Halloween, if at all possible!


	13. Adrenaline - Tony & Peter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 610 words by ceealaina.

Tony’s heart was racing, ears ringing as he surveyed the situation. Too many bad guys, not enough heroes—seemed to be the standard these days, since Rogers had taken off and taken half the team with him. So now it was just Tony and the kid, and Peter didn’t even have his suit. 

If Tony had been on his own? Sure, no problem. Fire up Iron Man, take 'em all down, be home by dinner. But he wasn’t alone, wasn’t only responsible for himself, couldn’t afford that same recklessness. He knew Peter, knew what he was capable of, had seen how he’d held his own in Berlin, but this was different. These were actual bad guys, men who wouldn’t hesitate to kill either or both of them. There would be no reluctance, no second-guessing, no pulling punches. This was real, he was here because of Tony, and  _ he didn’t have his suit _ . 

Peter was standing beside him, legs braced, waiting for Tony’s cue. Making a split-second decision, Tony yanked the nanotech housing unit off his chest and slammed it onto Peter’s. It was hard enough (or maybe he’d just taken him by surprise) that Peter took a couple stumbling steps back, staring at him with wide eyes. But before he could speak, the Iron Man suit was forming around him.

Safe. 

Tony didn’t remember the fight. He usually remembered everything, but for the life of him he couldn’t have said what happened after that, couldn’t have told you how they’d won, how they’d gotten out of it. One minute he was preparing to face down a hoard of angry somebody-or-others, unarmed, the adrenaline surging through his system about the only thing holding back a panic attack, and the next he was sitting on the curb and waving off the ambulance attendant, holding an ice pack to the nasty cut above his right eye. 

He startled when something slammed into his open palm, metal stinging against tender skin. He blinked up to find Peter standing above him on the sidewalk, staring down at him with furious eyes. 

“Why would you do that?” he demanded, voice high in anger and frustration and fear. “Why would you give me that?” 

“You didn’t have your suit.” Tony shrugged, playing off the headache that was pounding in his temples. “Your safety was my first priority, kid.” 

“I’m  _ super _ ,” Peter bit out. “And you’re—”

“Hey!” Tony cut him off, pointing a finger at him and trying to smile, trying to make light. “Don’t you try and say I’m not super. Trying to fight with these knees is a superpower all on its own, Peter Parker, you young’un.” 

Peter wasn’t laughing, didn’t even crack a smile. “What was that you told me about the suit, Mr. Stark? That if I’m nothing without it, I shouldn’t have it? I’m _not_ nothing without it. The suit’s a tool, but the powers are me. I would have been  _ fine _ .” 

Tony shifted uncomfortably. “You’re still a kid, Peter.” 

Peter just shook his head, upset like Tony had never seen him before. He was blinking rapidly, and shit. If he started crying, Tony didn’t actually know what he was going to do. But he didn’t, just swallowed hard and looked back at him. “If you had died today, that would be on me.” His voice cracked a little. “Don’t put that on me, Mr. Stark.” 

Fair. But. “I’m never gonna not put you before me.”

Peter just looked at him for a while, then left.

Tony sat there for a long time after Peter had gone, hand tight around the housing unit in his hand. “Sorry,” he called, far too late.

(Not sorry.)


	14. Tear-Stained - Tony & Morgan & Rhodey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 550 words by ceealaina.

Tony drew in a deep breath, scrubbing at his face as he triple-checked the schematics on the time machine — a fucking  _ time machine _ — before they went on their whole ‘save the universe’ adventure. Thor passed by him, on his way to who knows where, and Tony gave him what he hoped was a confident smile, feigning a positivity that he didn’t quite feel. 

There were a million and one way that this could all go wrong, and for not this first time Tony wondered if he hadn’t made a mistake, letting Steve and his motley crew of hopefuls talk him into this last hurrah. If something happened to him…

Abruptly, he could see Morgan, crying after a nightmare, or maybe a spill, cheeks stained with tears, waiting and waiting for Tony to come comfort her, only to have her left alone. Was he making the right choice here? He had worked so hard to be a better father than what he’d had, to be pretty much the opposite of Howard in every way. To make sure Morgan knew that she was loved, and supported, and cared for no matter what. But she was still so little. If something happened to him here, she wouldn’t really understand. If something happened to him here, would leaving her like this really be any better than how his father had left him?

He blinked when Rhodey abruptly sat down beside him, snapping him out of his thoughts. They were both quiet for a long minute, and then Rhodey sighed softly. 

“Tones,” he started. “She’ll be okay, man. I promise. I mean, you’re not allowed to die here, let’s clear that up right from the get go. But if…” He cleared his throat, like the words caused him physical pain. “If something happens to you? Morgan’ll be okay. You’re not Howard, Tony. She’s so strong, and she’s got Pepper, and Happy, and me… I’ll look after her Tones, I promise.”

Tony nodded, not trusting his voice for a minute. Rhodey shifted, their shoulders bumping together. Tony closed his eyes, letting himself settle in to the warm, comfortable weight of him. 

“Thanks, honeybear,” he whispered, voice hoarse. He cleared it, finally turning to face Rhodey and gave him a weak smile. “You know me so well.”

***

After, when the funeral was over, and most of the guests had gone and things had quieted down, Rhodey wandered through the backyard, coming to a stop in front of Morgan’s tent. His entire body ached, a bone-deep weariness settling over him, but he still dropped down in front of the tent opening. 

“Morgan? Honey, you in there?” 

“No.” 

The reply was uncharacteristically soft, and Rhodey sighed. 

“Can I come in?” 

There was a long pause, and then an even softer. “Kay.”

Morgan was sitting in a tiny little ball, knees pulled up against her chest, silent tears falling down her cheeks as she chewed at her lower lip. Rhodey felt his heart break a little more. “Oh honey,” he breathed. He pulled her into his lap and Morgan immediately curled into his chest, letting herself sob audibly now as he rubbed at her back and rocked her gently. Rhodey closed his eyes tightly, choking back his own sob. “You’re gonna be okay, honey. We’re gonna be okay.”


End file.
